Opening.
Seeing many articles and responses to mother-son adultery, I always feel that the articles are not really written (except for jerking off or letting classmates fuck their own mothers), and the responses are also very uninteresting (except for vague praises or malicious taunts, and not much thoughtful criticism), so it seems that all these articles are pathetic fantasies.
Ideas can of course be good articles if they are carefully crafted, but it is good to have experienced people recounting their real experiences. Therefore, I would like to write about my own experience of breaking through the barrier of mother-son relationship with my son and finding physical and mental happiness, hoping that it will be enjoyable for those who have similar experience, and encouraging or inspiring for those who do not have such experience but wish to have sex with their mothers.
From my own experience, I really think that mother-child sex is the best thing in the world. There are very few good things in the world where mother-son sex is good for the mother and child involved and not bad for any other outsiders. However, there may be some problems with mother-son sex leading to pregnancy (I’ll get to that later), but I don’t think that even mother-son sex leading to pregnancy is going to be a big problem.
(1) Beginning of sexual intercourse with a son
It’s been 10 years since I came to the United States. During these 10 years, I went from a master’s degree to a doctorate, got a good job, bought my own house, and got divorced four years ago. By the time I had settled down and brought my son from China, he was already 14 years old and about to start high school.
When I went to the airport to greet him, I had an indescribable feeling when I saw him entering the terminal alone with his suitcase. Compared with two years ago, when I returned to China to visit my family, my son looks very different, and from the surface, it seems that the change is not too big, except that if you look closely at his upper lip, you can find a short, fluffy beard is beginning to sprout. But when he sees me, he still smiles with the same bewildered, charming, shy smile as he has since he was a child.
The moment I hugged him, I realized that his body was no longer so thin. Not only had he grown taller, but he was a head taller than the last time they had met, and when he spoke, his voice had lost its former delicacy, just as he was changing his voice from his teenage years to his adolescence.
We hurried into the car and I drove while talking to him. I often keep in touch with him via e-mail during the week, but now that I’ve met with him, there are many things I want to ask him, but he never responds to my eager questions with short, trippy answers.
After a few inquiries, I stopped talking. From the rearview mirror, I saw him all the way around looking out the window at passing cars one time and watching me through the rearview mirror the next.
We arrived home in silence the whole way. Bags packed, showed him his own bedroom, looked at mine, taught him how to use the bathroom, got him showered.
After the shower, told him to rest. He said he wasn’t tired and couldn’t sleep, so we drove out to do some shopping.
There was still silence all the way in the car as he watched me silently, and when he saw that I had noticed his observations, he hurriedly looked away.
I bought many daily necessities and clothes for him, and it was already after nine o’clock in the evening when I returned home. When I was shopping at the store, it was rare to see him a little more lively, asking about the price of various kinds of clothes, what are the rules of dressing in the United States, etc. I was very happy to see him in the store, and I was very happy to see him in the store.
When I bought a Gili razor for shaving, he asked me what I was doing with the razor. I didn’t know how to answer, so I answered vaguely, “I want to use it myself.” I felt embarrassed to tell him that in the United States, women should always shave their armpits and legs. Luckily, he heard my vague answer and didn’t ask any further questions.
What followed was a flurry of jet lag, contacting schools to attend, and a whole lot of hustle and bustle. In the midst of all the hustle and bustle, I felt that my son and I were beginning to grow closer because there were so many things that he relied on my help for, and naturally, as his mother, I was happy to help him in any way that I could.
My son learns English very quickly, and after three months of school, he can basically understand the lessons.
Academic performance, with the exception of English and history, which were still a bit problematic, science, math, and other science subjects, he quickly reached the upper intermediate level.
As the hustle and bustle and novelty of being back together wore off, my son and I seemed to have drifted apart again. When I came home from work every night, I always saw him reading books and magazines silently in his room. Dinner was basically cooked by him every day. While eating and trying my best to talk to him, I realized that he seemed to be always trying to avoid me and refused to talk to me deeply. But with the instinctive sensitivity of a mother, I realized from my son’s answers in a few words that he was very bitter.
I had thought that my son had adapted very quickly and well here, and that although there were some difficulties, they were to be expected and would be overcome gradually, but I did not realize that in fact he still found it difficult everywhere. Even the science subjects that he is good at, he struggled a lot due to his limited English. He missed his home, his old friends and classmates at home, because he found it hard to socialize with his classmates here, no wonder he was so depressed. From then on, I gave him more attention.
One day the company was on vacation and I had a rare day alone at home all day. After cleaning up my own room, I cleaned up his room. While removing and changing the sheets, under his mattress I found a copy of HUSLER
Magazine. Flipping through the images of men and women’s flesh intertwining and sex organs meeting, I couldn’t help but wonder where my son had gotten this old magazine from. Guess what kind of mindset and posture he was looking at the pornographic magazine?
As a mother, and as someone who went through the teenage years, I just couldn’t help but feel sorry for my son. My son was separated from me for ten years, and coming to the U.S. during his teenage angst, with a very different language and culture, and the rapid changes in his body, mind, and spirit, was a stressful time for my son in every way imaginable.
I carefully put back my son’s pornographic magazines as they were and checked my son’s computer internet history.
As expected, my son likes to visit pornographic websites and downloads and stores many of the images. Opening one of the pornographic images stored by my son, I could see that he liked to see scenes of group sex and young Asian women having sex with men.
His favorites seem to be Japanese pornographic sites that show men ejaculating on women’s faces (“face ejaculation” in Japanese kanji), as well as images of mothers and children committing adultery, which is why he has the largest stockpile of such images.
I then began to understand why my son would often suddenly turn away from me when he looked at me, as if he was determined to leave me behind and not look at me. Earlier I thought he was shy, but it seems that shyness is real, I just didn’t realize why he would be so shy with me as well.
He especially liked the stored images of a mother being cradled by her son, her son’s penis penetrating her mother’s vagina, her son’s hands rubbing her mother’s breasts, and her mother moaning or screaming in disbelief at her son’s sexual stimulation, and he must have been looking at me in the same way for some time now.
I wonder what my son has experienced and been subjected to in all aspects, especially in terms of sexual behavior, both at home and since he arrived here. As a mother who is not rigid, I am very worried about my son even though I know that at his age, boys will find ways to satisfy their curiosity. He is so alienated here, and I am the only family he has, but I am his mother, and he can’t confide in me all his pent-up frustrations, especially his sexual frustrations.
I also agonized at the thought.
(2) My son and I had sex for the first time.
Cleaning my son’s room and finding the pornographic magazine HUSTLER under his mattress, and discovering in his computer records that he spends a great deal of time each day browsing pornographic websites and downloading and storing many pornographic images, shook me to the core and sent me into a state of anguish and contemplation.
The wind had picked up outside the window, the grass in the backyard hadn’t been mowed for a week, and you could clearly see blades of grass swaying in the wind, and the circle of lilies under the fence that had been newly loaded this year had already grown to about a foot tall.
The two squirrels, as if oblivious to the rain, jumped between the grasses and then into the trees, as usual.
I love to sit in my own home and enjoy rainy days, which are rare on weekdays. Once I have the chance, I will sit by the window and watch until the rain stops or it gets dark, and when I see big or small or dense or sparse raindrops falling from the sky, I always feel extraordinarily relaxed, just like taking a bath on a hot day.
But on this day, the rain seemed to appeal to me less.
I had thought that after 10 years of separation from my son, we would finally be reunited in the U.S., and that everything would be on track and we could easily enjoy our lives, but I didn’t realize that after my son’s arrival, my relationship with him had become even more estranged than it was when we were separated by oceans.
Previously, we had been in frequent contact via e-mail, sometimes even four or five times a day. At that time, it was as if we could talk about anything and there was basically no barrier between us. Nowadays, I rarely speak to my son four or five times a day, and I always ask questions and he answers. My son’s answers are always too short to be brief, sometimes simply “YES” or “NO”.
In retrospect, when I kept in touch with him via e-mail, it was only superficial, limited to asking each other what we were doing and what was going on around us. Sometimes he or I might have had some long letters, but we never talked deeply, never tried to get to know each other better. Now, living under the same roof every day, we finally realized that there was an invisible but real wall between us.
As a mother, I try hard to break down this wall, but my son, by his every word and deed, is raising and thickening the wall between us every day, making all my efforts futile. All this makes me feel anxious, distressed and pained.
I know that although my son has been in the U.S. for almost six months, he is still new to the country. He was overwhelmed by the new life, new school, new language, new subjects, and all the psychological and physiological reactions of puberty, so he tried to lock himself up in an invisible bubble of his own creation, where he felt safe, and minimized contact with others.
He is in fact very eager to get in touch with people, with the opposite sex, which can be seen from the fact that he is particularly fond of collecting pictures of young men and women having sex and mothers and children having sex. However, it seems that due to his shyness and sensitivity, and fear of being hurt, he can only dare to take the initiative to extend his tentacles and try to touch the world in the virtual space of the computer network.
Thinking about this added to my sympathy for my son. I feel that, as his mother, I should never hurt him or reprimand him for viewing pornographic websites. Offering him a rebuke or reprimand will not stop him from continuing to access pornographic images or texts, it will only serve to alienate him even more from me and deprive myself of the opportunity to influence him.
But how could I, as his mother, soothe his stress in every way, how could I soothe his sexual bitterness? Honestly, these are all questions that I didn’t even think about when I picked up my son for a permanent reunion with me.
The rain stopped at some point and it cleared up with a visible rainbow in the sky.
I grabbed my son’s room as it was, made a nice dinner, took a shower, and changed into casual clothes that didn’t expose my body so much. Having learned of my son’s erotic interests, I didn’t want to chastise him, but I also didn’t want to give him undue stimulation.
Soon after, my son returned from school. I opened the door to welcome my son into the house and saw that he was radiating heat. When I asked him, he said he had gotten caught in the rain on the way.
My son was opposite me for a few moments, his eyes flickering, his expression still a little uneasy, a little shy. One could guess that my son was probably imagining me naked, embracing me naked in his imagination and having sex with me.
Thinking about this, I suddenly wanted to jump up and hug him. But I didn’t dare, I was afraid that next, both my son and I would feel overwhelmed, and I was also afraid of giving my son a fright.
As if waking up with a jolt, my son scrambled into his room, grabbed two clean clothes, and took a shower.
The shower water was “clattering”, and as someone who has had a lot of experience with men, I knew that my son had to be masturbating and had to ejaculate before he could do so. Otherwise, he couldn’t get out of his shorts with his penis holding up his high sex drive.
The spray from the shower head stopped and my son emerged from the bathroom, moistened hair, shorts and t-shirt, looking much more peaceful, surely much relieved of his tension after he had masturbated and ejaculated in the bathroom.
We sat down to eat, and I made him his favorite bone broth. While we were eating, I asked him, “How’s school?” He avoided me with his eyes and answered absently, “Nothing, just the same. He avoided me with his eyes, while eating, and answered absently: “Nothing, as usual.”
This is a very detailed answer for him. I couldn’t help but laugh and said to my son, “What’s the old look like? Can you tell mommy about it?”
When my son saw me laughing, he also grinned: “The same old thing is the same old thing, what else do I have to say?”
“You never really told me much about school, did you?” I said, “As a mom, I want to know everything about you. Of course, you’re not a kid anymore, and there are some things that are private to you that mom can and won’t ask about. You can rest assured.”
My son’s face immediately started to redden when he heard me talking about it, about guessing that I had seen his hidden pictures of intercourse and HUSTLER magazine.
I hurriedly added to reassure him, “You’ve never told me what you like most about coming to school here, what you dislike most, what you miss most, or what you need the most help with. Can’t you tell your mom these things? Mommy likes to hear it. Of course, if you have a secret crush on any girl, you’re perfectly free to keep it to yourself, and Mommy won’t make a nuisance of herself by asking too many questions.”
The son’s expression slackened: “Really, there’s nothing to say, mom.”
“Why can’t we talk about it?”
“What’s the use of talking?” There was some impatience in his son’s expression and tone of voice.
My eyes suddenly became moist: “You are the closest person to mom, you always do this to mom, do you know how sad mom is? Mom did everything, ultimately is for you. What did mom do to you that you want to treat mom like this?”
My son watched silently as I wiped away my tears and said, half in protest and half in explanation, “I find it hard to communicate with my mom. My things, mom will not understand.”
“What do you want me to understand when you have something that you keep to yourself and don’t talk about it?”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to say something, I don’t know if I should or shouldn’t.”
I was happy to feel that my son’s heart is opening to me, or at least has opened a rare gap, so I hurried to seize the opportunity that may be fleeting: “not good to say, you can write to mom to see ah!
What do we feel bad about saying? Is it bad to say it through e-mail, through MSN MESSENGER SERVICE? Didn’t you used to correspond with your mom all day long? You and I have our own accounts, we can write down what we want to say the most, and don’t worry about any scruples, it doesn’t matter what we write. When we meet, neither of us should mention what we wrote unless we both agree. Is that okay?”
My son’s eyes lit up, “Is that really possible, mom?”
“What’s not to like? Of course.”
“Can it be now? Mom?” My son asked eagerly, “I can go to my room right now, and mom go to her room. We’ll start talking right away, okay?”
“Could be.” I said.
But as soon as I said “yes,” I began to regret it. I was pleased with my son’s eagerness to communicate with me, but at the same time I felt a vague sense of unease. Things were moving too fast, and I felt that I was in danger of pushing myself into a situation that was out of my control.
I went back to my room, turned on the computer, through the MSN MESSENGER SERVICE to contact my son. Sure enough, the first three words he sent were.
“Mom, I love you. I think about you day and night and I want to fuck you.”
(3) Breaking through the barrier of the mother-child relationship
“MOM, I LOVE YOU. IVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT YOU DAY AND NIGHT, AND I WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH YOU.” (Mom, I love you. i think about you day and night, and i want to have sex with you.)
As soon as my son and I connected to MSN MESSENGER SERVICE, I saw these words popping up on the computer screen, one by one, one by one, one by one, one by one, one by one, one by one, one by one, one by one, one by one, one by one, one by one, one by one, one by one, one by one, one by one, one by one, one by one. Now, although things have long since changed, I still don’t know how to describe my son’s initial confession of his sexual desire for me, nor do I know how to describe the feeling that my son’s confession brought to me.
Frank, revealing, sincere, full of hope, full of despair, hope in despair, despair in hope, a glimmer of hope floating in the ocean of despair, heavy clouds of despair leaked out of the sky light of hope. In the plausible virtual space of the computer network, my son to me for the first time to light up his naked and delicate heart, what in the end he feels, I do not know until now, and never asked him, never want to ask.
I didn’t want to ask, one reason being that I feel that even the closest of people should respect each other for each person’s private inner space; and another, I myself still don’t know exactly why I was surprised and my heart skipped a beat when I first saw my son’s naked heart at that time.
In fact, I should not have been surprised when I vaguely anticipated, as early as the moment I decided to open my son’s heart, that he would most likely make such a gesture to me. But why did my heart beat violently at that time? Was it excitement over the imminent realization of a long suppressed longing in my subconscious? Was it fear? Regret? Regret that I had pushed myself and my son into a path of no return with a treacherous and uncertain future?
I still find myself pondering these questions from time to time.
But at the time, when I saw the first sentence pop up on my computer screen, my immediate thought was of this smart kid, sensitive kid, scared of getting hurt. My son chose to use English, English that is a FOREIGN LANGUAGE to him and to me, to add a layer of protection for himself, like not reaching out directly to touch something that could be dangerous, but rather using a probe, a FOREIGNOBJECT, to avoid direct injury to himself.
I don’t know why, but when I saw my son’s message, “MOM, I LOVE YOU, IVE BEENTHINKING ABOUT YOU DAY AND NIGHT, AND I WANT TO HAVE SEX WITHYOU,” I immediately wrote a reply in Chinese.
“Although mom can write in English, I still think it’s better to write in Chinese, so that we can express and understand each other’s meaning more fully. Shall we use Chinese?”
The son immediately agreed.
Now, I still keep a copy of the first time I talked to my son through MSN Messenger in my private storage, and I have never shown it to my son, even though we have been in a close spiritual relationship for many years. I don’t know what kind of mentality or consideration I had at that time, and why I copied the content of our conversation via messenger. Perhaps, it was out of professional instinct and habit to carefully analyze the conversation in order to think of the best possible response.
However, the rapid and uncontrollable development of my relationship with my son forced me to abandon the professional instincts and habits that I had developed over years of academic and job training. I soon realized that professional instincts and habits were completely out of place in our mother-son physical and spiritual relationship. Of course, all of this is an afterthought.
Here’s a snippet of the first time my son and I opened up to each other.
Mom: Can you tell me when you started thinking about me day and night?
Son: very early. Since I was a kid.
Mom: It’s a lie. How is that possible?
Son: Really, mom. When I was a child, I wanted to see my mom, touch her, and listen to her, and I’ve wanted to do that even more since I’ve gotten older.
Mom: Why do you want it more? What do you want?
Son: I want to be with my mom and touch her.
Mom: Isn’t mom with you every day? Don’t you have contact with your mom every day? Doesn’t Mommy hug and kiss you every day? Doesn’t mom want to talk to you more every day? It’s you who don’t want to talk!
Son: It’s not that I don’t want to say it, I don’t know what to say. I want to have sex with my mom.
Mom: Can we talk about something else? For example, what do you think is difficult right now?
(Long silence.)
Mom: Are you there?
(Long silence.)
Mom: Are you still there? Are you still reading what Mommy wrote? Are you angry? Good boy, don’t be angry. You’re the only family I have here. Mom would do anything for you.
Son: Mom, you made me feel like a fool.
Mom: Good boy, don’t be mad at me, let’s just talk in Chinese, okay? Don’t be mad at me. Mom definitely didn’t mean to trick you.
Son: Mom, you’re the one who made a deal with me that I could say anything to you without any scruples. I said what I wanted to say, but you wouldn’t answer me, you changed the subject, you tricked me. I fell for your tricks. You made me say stupid things. Mom, I hate you! I hate you! I’ll always hate you. I’ll never forgive you! You said you’d do anything for me, and when it came to the point, you turned your back on me. You’re selfish. You’re always selfish. No wonder Dad divorced you. He said you’re right. You’re always self-righteous, smart and selfish. You treat all the people in the world as your MEANS (means) and you only try to pursue your own happiness. To you, everything in the world is a matter of needing to be separate in size and ultimately dispensable, and all people, including me, are dispensable to you. You make judgments about everything and everyone depending on your needs. All of this dad is so right. I should have seen through you long ago. You can throw me away for ten years for your own future. Don’t think that I should be grateful to you for sending me to America. I hate you! I’ve always hated you! Every time I see other students with their own moms around, I hate you. Mom, I just want you to know that I hate you!
Mom: Good boy. It’s my fault. Please forgive me, okay?
Son: There is nothing to forgive.
Mom: I’m here to tell you that I’m sorry. I know that I’ve been very sorry for the past ten years. Please, don’t hate mommy, okay? Even for the sake of mom’s parents and siblings, please don’t hate mom, okay? In the past ten years, although mom did not fulfill her responsibilities as a mother to you, but mom’s parents, mom’s siblings therefore doubled their love and care for you, didn’t you all see and feel it. Didn’t you? Perhaps, it is still a bit reluctant for you for me to ask for your forgiveness now. But, for the sake of mom’s family, you should stop hating mom, okay? Good boy.
(Silence.)
Mom: I’m sorry. I’m sorry again. Don’t hate your mom anymore. Mom knows that the last ten years have been an irreparable loss for you. Good boy, I also want you to know that the past ten years have been an irreparable loss for your mom. Mom got everything she planned to get before she left the country, but it’s because she couldn’t be with you that every day, every minute of the past ten years, Mom felt an intense loss, an intense sense of loss. There are things that I have been reluctant to say to you before. Now that you’ve said what’s in your heart, you listen to what’s in Mommy’s heart, too, okay? Whether I go to school or work here, when I see female colleagues and classmates hugging their children, I can’t help but cry every time. Can you understand mom? Can you trust your mom?
(No answer.)
Mom: Mom may have thought she was smart, and she may have come to the U.S. because she thought she was smart, thinking that if she stayed in China, she wouldn’t be able to utilize her talents to the fullest, and that she had to come to the U.S. to do it.
However, once you are here, you feel that you can’t go back. Although you stayed in China, and although mom misses you every day and every hour, mom still feels that mainland China is not a good environment for us to live in. Although your father and I don’t get along, I think you know very well what he thinks about the environment for survival in mainland China. You know, it was out of love for you that mom separated from you, that she decided to stay here, to separate from you, and to persevere in her struggle in order to eventually allow you to come here as well. Mommy knows that by leaving you in China, you will surely hate Mommy. But mom is also afraid that when you grow up and understand, you will hate mom for not having the vision and ambition to fight for a good life in America, so that you can also enjoy a relatively better living environment. Can you understand this?
Son: Mom, I understand. You are a good mother. Please forgive me for all the rude and unreasonable things I said just now.
Mom: Good boy, I know you know what you’re doing. Let me think about what you want to do with your mom, okay?
Son: I love you, mom.
┅┅
The above is a computer file copy clip of my first open hearted pen talk with my son.
And so it was that I was supposed to make an effort to open my son’s heart, but I didn’t realize that my own efforts had opened my own portal. I felt like I was all of a sudden naked, standing alone in a black wilderness, uncovered, defenseless, directionless, and unaided.
I wanted to be close to my son, but I felt very scared at the same time.
(4) Moonlit nights and early mornings
I rushed to the end of my first computer-connected conversation with my son, feeling fear, regret, and self-doubt. Fear of not knowing how things would turn out once they started; fear that whatever the outcome would be, it would not be a good one.
I regretted that I had been too simple-minded, had overestimated my own abilities, and had rashly promised my son that I could have a no-holds-barred online conversation before I had thought everything through.
I regret that I made a big mistake. Why didn’t I reject my son’s sexual advances outright? Why not clearly point out his irrationality, perversity, and misbehavior as soon as he asked for sex?
After my son and I finished our online conversation, he closed himself in his room and never came out. I felt slightly relieved; I really didn’t know how to face him if he came out. Perhaps my son felt the same way about me.
Turned off the light, opened the bedroom window, and lay down on the bed in the darkness, thinking carefully forward and backward, reviewing where I had failed.
On second thought, it seems unlikely that I had thought everything through in advance. When I decided to have an open conversation with my son over the computer network, I had some vague preconceptions and concerns, but in no way could I have imagined that my son would come right out and take me by surprise by confessing immediately that he wanted to have sex with me.
The half-full moon appeared and disappeared amidst the floating clouds that sped by. It’s been a long time since I’ve been with the moonlight, and during the time I came to the U.S. to study, due to intense study, at one point I had to study in the library almost every day until late at night, and I often had the opportunity to walk to the bus stop in the moonlight. Once again, I felt a strong and painful self-doubt, doubting whether all the struggles and fights of these years here were worth it.
I was separated from my son for a long time, and during that time I went back to China three times to visit my family, and each time I was surprised at how much my son had grown since the last time I saw him, and I felt strongly that I should bring him to the U.S. as soon as possible for a permanent reunion. But by the time we got our citizenship and got his immigration status, we had already been separated for ten years, and our son was already like this.
Obviously, when I first picked up my son, I was overly optimistic and oversimplified, thinking that he would quickly adapt to the American environment. After all, my son is not too old, and he has been a smart kid since he was a child, so he should be able to adapt to the new environment very easily.
Initially he also seemed to adapt quickly, but it has now become apparent that he is not really adapting, let alone integrating into his new environment here. Perhaps because of his son’s particular experience, he has become even more sensitive; after coming to the United States, this sensitivity has made it more difficult for him to adapt to his new environment.
While in China, my son has always been well taken care of by my parents, as well as an older sister and a younger brother and their families in every way. When I was a student, I sent home 100 dollars a month, and after I started working, I sent home 400 dollars a month, which is quite a lot of money in China. I can say that my son is quite fortunate, materially speaking, in terms of the care he receives from other relatives.
But none of this remedies the pain of my son’s prolonged separation from his parents. My divorce from my husband must have shocked and traumatized him. After my divorce and the long period of time that he was not reunited with me, his legal provider, it was reasonable for him to turn from pain to resentment and anger.
My family, in order to compensate for the lack of my son not being able to be with me, is quite pampering to him. My family spends almost all the money I send home on him. Not only do they give him a few hundred dollars a month as pocket money, but when he says he needs something, they give him another amount and do not ask for it. I have told my family many times not to spoil him too much, but they don’t seem to listen.
I can’t watch and discipline my own child, and I can’t comment too much on other people’s discipline. But the heart has always been worried, in his critical period of growth, parents are not around, son in school, outside the school are subject to what influence? Has he already had a girlfriend? Has he had any sexual experience?
From the reports, it seems that high school students in this country today are so modernized that having sex, or even having several sexual partners, is not news. From all indications, it seems as if the son is not that open-minded, but who can say?
I was suddenly afraid that during my absence from my son, he might have gotten an STD or even AIDS.
Should make an appointment with the doc to set up a proper checkup for him.
The cool breeze of late spring and early summer blew in, and in the distance came the even “rustle” of passing cars on the highway, and I wondered what birds were chirping, which sounded particularly shrill in the rustling background noise.
I know I don’t have to, but I still feel a strong sense of remorse that I can’t get rid of, and I feel sorry for my son as a mother who hasn’t been with him for ten years.
In retrospect, the first uninhibited conversation with him online, when he offered to have sex with me, not chastising him at first, and then agreeing to consider his request, was also a desperate attempt to redeem himself in the midst of intense remorse, a desperate attempt to recreate an intimate mother-son relationship with my son and rebuild the mother-son trust that had been lost for so many years.
There was really no other option, blaming my son would obviously only push him away again, re-enforce my son’s distrust of me, further alienate my son from me, and probably cause me to lose him forever from that point on.
Getting up from the bed, he closed the window, walked out of the bedroom and checked the front and back doors of the residence. Although the living quarters were fairly secure, it was a habit developed over the years that one could not sleep soundly without making sure the doors were locked.
Patrolling to the bathroom, he stopped by to gather up his son’s t-shirt hanging on the doorknob. The t-shirt, soaked with rain and my son’s sweat, gave off an odor that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Picking it up and taking a few deep sniffs, I immediately felt reluctant to put it down; it had been a long time since I had smelled this tantalizing odor. I hurriedly threw my son’s T-shirt into the laundry basket while blushing for myself.
Changing into my pajamas, I lay back down on the bed, still constantly recalling my son’s scent, and the urge to get up and bring my son’s t-shirt kept welling up in my mind. It was hard to hold myself down, and I finally fell asleep near dawn.
The morning sun poured down from the water-washed sky in a bright, dazzling light, and the leaves of the trees and grass shimmered and glowed.
As usual, after breakfast with my son, we were silent.
My son was still fully dressed and ready to go out with his backpack. I told him, “You’ve been here for a long time. Our health insurance has a free comprehensive physical examination once a year, I’ll make an appointment for you to have a physical examination!”
My son’s eyes brightened up significantly: “Yes!” After saying that, he went out of the house in a hurry.
What could my son possibly be thinking of? Once again, I blushed for myself at the thought. What should I explain to him tonight? Or should I not explain anything to him?
(5) My Son Collected My Pubic Hair
After my son left for school looking happy, I called my son’s doctor to make an appointment for a physical examination for my son, and specifically requested a test for STDs and a test for the presence of AIDS. I asked the doctor to notify only me and no one else of the results of these special tests.
After the phone call, he was in a bit of a ruffled mood and went out into the backyard to walk around for a bit and then, for some reason, went back into his son’s room.
Walking into the room from the fresh air outdoors, my sense of smell was extra sharp and I could distinctly smell a plausible odor wafting through the room. I felt a rush of excitement at what I thought was distinctly the smell of semen.
My son must have masturbated and ejaculated again last night after talking to me online and expressing his desire to have sex with me. My son is at the age when he has a strong sexual hunger and desire, so he probably ejaculated several times in a row before going to sleep, and then woke up and probably ejaculated again. No wonder this morning, my son’s cheerful face vaguely revealed a few hints of fatigue.
In the word paper basket by the bedside, there were indeed five balls of cotton paper tucked under a couple of discarded pieces of draft paper. Carefully picking up these damp balls of paper with a noticeable weight, yes, it was the smell of semen.
I carefully unfolded the wettest ball of paper, hoping to see my son’s semen. However, after at least a couple of hours of penetration, the semen had been completely absorbed by the cotton paper, leaving only a strong odor.
I put the ball of paper back in the word paper basket, pressed the draft paper back on as it was, and went through my son’s nightstand drawer in the process.
My son is quite an organized child and the drawers are all neatly arranged. In one of the innermost corners, there was a delicate blue plastic locket, one and a half inches square, which was a commemorative coin box that I had given him a couple of years ago when I went back to China to visit my family. It was a worthless commemorative coin that I gave him to play with, and I had almost forgotten about it, but I didn’t realize that my son had kept it and brought it here.
Reaching down and picking up the small box, it was very light, the commemorative coin inside was definitely gone. When I opened the box, it was some curved body hairs, and on closer inspection, some pubic hairs, one head on, one tail on placed side by side, there were 40 or 50 of them, some of them were so curved that they were lying across the box.
My son had obviously been collecting my pubic hair for some time, so it’s no wonder that a couple of times I felt as if my bed had been moved. Usually get up in the morning, I am in a hurry to pull the sheets and quilt flat even cleaned up, there are a few times at night when I go to bed, I feel that the sheets and quilt flattened a little strange, but I have never thought about it again, the original is my son from my bed to collect my pubic hair, in order to cover up, purposely for me to make up the bed, and organized overly well.
I put back the small box with pubic hairs, and a question flashed in my mind: these pubic hairs could also be my son’s own, right? But I immediately rejected this idea. First of all, judging from his recently developed beard, it is unlikely that his pubic hair is this long; even if his pubic hair has already grown, my son does not look like a weirdo who collects his own pubic hair.
The time to go to work arrived early, I simply combed and dressed up also went out the door, the mood is a little apprehensive, but also some nameless excitement, nameless fear.
The air was extraordinarily fresh after the rain, but it was as if I could smell my son’s body, his semen, all the time, and I felt inexplicably aroused. Realizing that I had been involuntarily sexually attracted to my son, I felt a pang of criminality, and intense worry.
I don’t know why I suddenly had so many worries overnight. I was worried about the results of my son’s medical checkups. If my son had contracted an STD or even AIDS, even if it was not entirely my fault, I would never be able to forgive myself because I had been absent from him at a critical time in his development – even though he might not have been willing to listen to me even if I had been there.
If the test results say that he is free of STDs, I still can’t stop worrying. I can only imagine the difficulties my son will face in terms of intellectual, personality and sexual development in a country and culture he is still unfamiliar with.
I fear that these difficulties are too big and too daunting for my son, something he is incapable of surpassing or overcoming, and that my son’s self-esteem has suffered an irrecoverable blow as a result.
I am really worried that my son will become a sexual deviant in the future because of his frequent setbacks and become unable to have normal relationships with women. I am afraid that in the future, my son may only spy on women, stalk them or even steal their dirty clothes, but he cannot and dare not face the women he likes; he dare not and will not have face-to-face conversations with the women he likes.
How much time does he spend collecting and playing with pubic hair every day? Is that all my pubic hair? I hope so. Otherwise, it would be a real problem if he went around collecting other people’s pubic hair.
Originally, when teenagers reach my son’s age, it’s a time of constant confusion, and I was really afraid that my son would become self-absorbed and seek out prostitutes or lowly girls for promiscuity due to repeated repression and frustration of his sexuality.
There are small worries about small children and big worries about big children. In comparison, it is better and easier to have smaller children. But wasn’t it precisely because I thought my child was small and easy to take care of, and it wouldn’t be a big problem to leave him, that I ended up in the predicament I’m in today?
(6) Odor of son’s semen
The sky was unbelievably clean, a mass of snow-white clouds, like a ball of cotton wool.
Walking on the way to the subway station, looking at the textured cloud clusters, I can’t help but want to go with the wind and float into them. These clouds will also be like the sun-tanned bedclothes, and have a good smell of the sun? Suddenly, I could smell my son’s sweat and semen.
It is understandable that my son has a strong sexual hunger at this age, but, as a mother, I don’t understand why I was actually sexually attracted to my son so strongly overnight.
Two years before I divorced my husband, I rarely had sex. We were both so busy with work, further education and family matters that it was rare for us to have sexual intercourse even once in a month or two. There was no emotion, no love, and the strong sexual demand for each other during the relationship became a strange and distant past. I don’t know if it’s because they’re getting older and their sex drive is waning, or if it’s because they’re no longer in love with each other, causing their sex drive to wane.
After the divorce, except for very rare times, I did not feel much strong sexual demand. Maybe it is because of the long-term loveless and sexless life with my husband, which has made me accustomed to it, so accustomed to it that I have become numb.
I remember when I was in high school and college, I used to be very curious, very sensitive, and interested in everything and wanted to know about everything. I remember that I used to get up in the morning and feel refreshed and everything was so new. The sky, the air, the flowers, the breakfast, the school bag, everything made me feel cozy, comfortable, happy, and all kinds of sensory organs were sharp and fresh, which made me feel relaxed all over, and I felt so good to be alive.
This freshness to everyday life started to fade at some point in the last 10 years and eventually disappeared completely, and I felt unsettled and uncomfortable. How many times have I tried desperately to get back that freshness of the past, and after many failed attempts, I finally got discouraged and divorced.
Rush hour was almost over, and the subway car was no longer so crowded. A full-bodied girl came up, sat down on the opposite side, took out a hardback book from her backpack and looked at it, a book borrowed from the library. About sixteen, seventeen years of age, oval face, the bridge of the nose is not high, not bottom, quite handsome quiet, gray eyes, long eyelashes a moment to flicker.
The girl wore a tight, short-sleeved, yellow, cable-knit shirt, which emphasized the fullness and firmness of her particularly perky breasts. The girl’s tight jeans wrapped around her long legs, and her round, firm hindquarters resembled those of a fat, strong pony.
There must be a lot of beautiful, well-developed girls like this in my son’s school, so why doesn’t he think about sexy girls like this, but longs for sexual fulfillment from me? Perhaps there are many girls who make my son want to have sex with them, but due to his natural shyness, lack of experience, or lack of language skills, my son can only stay at the stage of secretly wanting to have sex with the girls he likes. Perhaps, it is the long period of sexual repression that has led to the distortion of my son’s mentality, causing him to develop a sexual desire for me, that is, for his biological mother?
It’s not like that’s a sure thing. Didn’t MACK, fresh out of college, have a crush on me too?
Mack is a smart, capable young man with light blue eyes and a strong, athletic body. He graduated from college a year ago and started his first job at the company I work for. mack was not interested in the four or five girls and young women in the office, but for some reason he was obsessed with me, and he was always trying to get close to me and talk to me.
As a woman, I felt happy to be constantly watched by a young man who was in love with me. I finally agreed to go out to dinner with Mack one day, then invited him over for a little sit-down, and finally let him spend the night at home.
However, after one night, I no longer found him so cute. I had coitus with MACK three times that night, and it didn’t really feel that bad. Even in the midst of the passionate sexual intercourse, he was gentle and courteous to me as usual, kissing me tenderly, caressing me, and constantly asking me how I was feeling.
However, every moment I was naked with him, I felt very strange with him. It was a kind of unfamiliarity that I could never get used to, and it made me feel bored, as if I had been looking forward to eating something good, and then once I had a mouthful of it, I immediately felt that it was nothing more than that, and that I could never think about it again.
After parting politely with him that morning, MACK still often casts a fleeting glance at me when he sees me to this day. At every opportunity, he invited me out to lunch and dinner, but I have never said yes to him since.
It was like I could smell my son’s sweat and cum again.
The plump girl gathered up her books and put them in her bag and got up to get out of the car.
What color could this girl’s pubic hair be? Would it be the same light maroon color as her hair, or the same blonde color as the fuzz on her forearms? How did my son remember to collect my pubic hair? Since when did my son become sexually attracted to me?
How did I start filling my head with these things too? I’m ashamed of myself.
I thought it might be a good idea to just ask my son why he didn’t try to find younger girls, but had to come to me for sexual favors.
But I immediately dismissed the idea that such a question would surely be a bad one.
My son may not be able to analyze it in detail, but he will certainly feel that I consider him incompetent and pathetic. What is most needed now is to create confidence and consolidate self-confidence in my sensitive and vulnerable son. As a mother, I must not inadvertently undermine his confidence.
Also, if I were to ask my son why he has his eye on me, it would do nothing more than imply that I think he has a bad eye or that he has a good eye. Neither implication is good.
To imply that he had a bad eye for me, that he actually looked at me as someone who did not deserve or deserve to be looked at by him, was a psychological blow to him; but to imply that he had a great eye for motherhood, so that he would see me as a brilliantly sexy woman, was undoubtedly another tease to him.
With my son, I didn’t want to strike out in any way, much less tease. I forced myself to stop thinking about it, but no matter how hard I tried to exorcise it, the sexual thoughts still lingered in my mind. I wanted my son’s sexual desire for me to be the result of a preference for mature women, not the result of a twisted psyche caused by repressed sexuality. I wanted my son to like me, to like me as his mother, to like me as the object of his sexual desire. I am afraid of not being liked by my son, and I am even more afraid of turning him off.
Being separated from my son for ten years left a huge hole in my heart that left me feeling weak and panicked.
This emptiness and panic emptied my life of all meaning.
My son is the only family I have, but since he came to me, I constantly feel that he has become even more unreachable than before. Not only did I feel that he was unattainable, but I felt that everything in the world was unattainable and that everything I had been given was meaningless. I wanted the hole in my heart to be filled, and I felt that my son was the only one who could fill the void of my inexplicable despair.
As the mother of a son, I can’t believe I look forward to letting my son fill my empty hole… Do I really wish to have sex with my son?
The sudden realization scared me. Is intercourse with my son the only way to get close to him? But how can I keep and maintain the closest contact with my son without granting his request for intercourse, so that I can be truly close to him and intimate with him?
I did everything I could to be close to him, to be close to him, so to speak. I wish I could do more for my son, but he is rejecting me, avoiding me, and drifting away from me.
It’s really not his fault. If I were myself, separated from my own parents for ten years, I’m sure I wouldn’t be able to get close to them very easily. Even if they hadn’t been separated from their parents, children go through a so-called rebellious period when they reach puberty, when they become distant and confrontational with their elders for no reason at all.
My son, who is at the beginning of puberty, has moved to a culture that is very foreign to him after a long separation from me. I can understand how difficult it is for my son, and I feel very sad and heartbroken for him. If having sex with my son can make his physical and mental growth smoother, and his adjustment to life here a little smoother, what’s wrong with being a mother and having sex with my son?
Yes, what’s wrong with that? What’s wrong with me, as a mother, having sex with my son to assist him in growing up normally, seeking pleasure, or at least assisting him in obtaining a rare thrill, and I’m not harming anyone?
At the same time as I agreed to have sex with my son for Hope, I felt intense self-doubt.
Why do you want to have sex with your son? Is it really for my son? Am I a pervert or a sick person who is trying to make excuses for having sex with my son? Do I have a preference for youth or even teenagers in my choice of sexual partners? Isn’t guiding MACK home for a sleepover proof of that?
Why did I keep MACK at home overnight? Wasn’t I attracted to his youth? Why am I so attracted to the smell of my son’s sweat and semen? Was my son attracted to me? Or am I attracted to my son?
There is no doubt that my son and I are already attracted to each other, that can’t be denied in any way.
Yes, my son was expressing his desire to have sex with me. But, why do I like the smell of my son’s sweat and semen so much? Don’t I also desire to have sex with my son? Don’t I wish to fondle my son’s flesh and enjoy his young flesh?
Did I subconsciously decide to seduce my son when I decided to open up to him and talk to him online at ? Why did I promise him, “Let me think about having sex with my mom, okay?” Why did I have to repeat my son’s words and mention the word “sex” to him?
I was indeed desperate to gain my son’s trust. But couldn’t there have been many other euphemisms? Why couldn’t I have said to my son at the time, “Let me think about what you said?” Now I regret repeating my son’s request for sex, but wasn’t I happy when I said it?
When I entered the office, I was still upset. It was hard to make it to lunch time, I bought a fast food, walked to the shade of the tree under the office building, found a bench and sat down, not in the mood to eat. Colleagues in twos and threes passed by, or into the building, or find a chair to sit down, while eating lunch, while enjoying the sunny weather, the pleasant cool breeze.
A wave of thoughts of his son, violent thoughts came over him, it had been a long time since I had thought of my son so intensely.
Fragments of the Song of Songs echoed in my ears.
“Listen, it is the voice of my good man. Behold, he comes over the mountains. My good man is like a gazelle, or like a fawn. He stands behind our wall, watching from the window and peering in through the bed lattice.”
My son, who has entered puberty, with his long legs and long shoulders, is like a gazelle, or a fawn. He came to me from the far side of Oceania, and he was spying on me, spying for so long that I wanted to be able to hold him in my arms immediately.
I came back to the office after lunch, and I kept making mistakes in my writing. A colleague asked me if I was not feeling well. I just went along for the ride, made some vague excuses, and left work two hours early to go home.
When I got home and walked in the door, I took another quick look at my son’s computer internet browsing history and realized that he had viewed so many close-up pictures of pussies and cunts last night, labia majora, labia minora, clitoris, hairy cunts, and cunts with shaved pubic hair.
Seeing these photos made me feel somewhat inexplicably relieved. At the very least, it showed that my son probably hadn’t had sex with another woman before, otherwise he wouldn’t still be so interested in women’s vaginas and pussies.
Is my son preparing to have sex with me? Should I give in to my son’s request to have sex with him?
I felt intensely uneasy. I am afraid that my son is having a one-night stand with me as well, and I am afraid that after one night he will be as tired of me as I am of MACK. How can I continue to spend time with my son after getting tired of me?
I was afraid that my efforts to get closer to my son would result in me losing him permanently.
(to be continued)